


You Need a New Umbrella

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock, Brollylock Challenge, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, I'm Going to Hell, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Top Mycroft, sex with objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Mycroft have been much closer than anyone knows. A flashback and inappropriate use of an umbrella ensue.</p><p>Please read the tags!!!! I mean really, REALLY, read the tags!!!</p><p>Written for the brollylock challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What have you made me do? (points accusingly around the Sherlock fandom). Less than a year ago I was a totally respectable woman, then I discovered fanfic, and LOOK what happened. (Hangs head in shame). :-) ;-)

Mycroft opens the door to 221B and walks in as if he owns the place. Umbrella on his arm and wearing his usual three piece suit. He looks around and sees John sitting at the table typing on his laptop and Sherlock sitting in his armchair frowning at the newspaper. Inclining his head towards the detective Mycroft says calmly "Brother."

"Kindly piss off Mycroft." Sherlock replies without lifting his eyes from the article he is reading.

Mycroft takes a seat in the armchair opposite his brother propping his umbrella at the side, sighs theatrically and replies "I merely wanted to wish you a pleasant birthday."

Sherlock snaps back "It was pleasant until you arrived, John and I are going out for dinner shortly, so if you wouldn't mind." He makes flicking motions with his fingers towards the door as if to shoo his older brother away.

John sounds exasperated as he interjects "Sherlock, we aren't going for another two hours, you have time for a civil conversation with your brother. I'm going to have a shower."

John shuts his laptop down as the brothers glare at one another, then completely ignores them as he goes into the bathroom. The two men sit in silence for a few minutes until the sound of running water can be heard. Sherlock leaps from his chair and climbs on top of Mycroft, one knee on either side of his hips on the armchair. He kisses his brother, hard and insistent. He licks at the seam of Mycroft's lips to gain access, but his brother is unresponsive, it is like kissing a statue. After a few seconds Mycroft gives a small shake of head as if trying to wake himself to make sure that this is really happening, then pushes Sherlock away. Sherlock falls on his backside on the floor, but quickly recovers his composure and springs to his feet.

"What are you doing?" The younger brother asks in a wounded tone.

Mycroft splutters and counters "What are YOU doing?" Attempting to sound outraged, but it comes out slightly too breathless to be totally convincing.

In a small voice Sherlock answers "You kissed me last year on my birthday."

Mycroft's eyes narrow in anger as the growls "That was a mistake, you had just been reprieved from going on a suicide mission, and recovered from a drug overdose." Then closing his eyes briefly he continues more hesitantly "I, I was just relieved that I wasn't going to lose you."

Sherlock feels tears prickling his eyes, but blinks them back and whispers "Don't pretend you don't want this."

Mycroft shakes his head sadly "What I want has very little to do with my answer to this proposal."

Grasping onto this tacit admission Sherlock says "So you do... You do want it."

Mycroft swallows and looks away from his brother, his throat sounds tight as he replies "We can't, it's wrong."

Sherlock's eyes harden a little as he states coldly "You know last year wasn't the only time."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft almost shouts in a warning tone. The brothers both look at the bathroom door, but watery sounds continue to issue from within.

Sherlock's voice drops a tone "You know I've never been with anyone else."

Mycroft looks like he is in physical pain, in fact he shifts a little in the chair as if his trousers are uncomfortable. "Don't, please." He pleads.

Sherlock reminisces, his tone still low and seductive "Christmas, when I was 20, I remember looking up at the lights twinkling on the tree while you took my virginity."

Mycroft hangs his head and whispers "We promised we would never talk of that."

"And yet you kissed me last year." Sherlock says moving back towards his brother.

Mycroft looks up and see his brother getting closer, mindful of John in the next room he doesn't shout again, but very firmly says "No!" and pushes him away.

Sherlock, still trying the low seductive tone says "Why? We could go to my room right now, you can fuck me as hard as you want. I mean it Mycie, no one else has touched me since that night."

Mycroft groans "John is in the shower, he would know."

"Tomorrow then, we can meet at your apartment, no one would ever know."

Staring into his brother's eyes Mycroft firmly says "It's illegal, we are not doing this."

"Please." Sherlock begs, "I want you inside me so much."

"I can't." Mycroft cries and pushes past Sherlock to flee.

Sherlock watches the door slam behind his brother, the only man he had ever truly been attracted to, the only man he trusted enough to make love with. (The sound of John moving around in the bathroom pulls his gaze away from the door.) Amend that, one of only two men, but the other is the very straight John Watson, so no hope of that relationship ever escalating beyond friendship.

His eyes alight on Mycroft's umbrella abandoned in his haste to leave. He picks it up, he knows Mycroft carries it almost constantly as an affectation, past of his persona as someone with a "minor position in the government". He uses it to distract, fiddles with it to make it appear that he is nervous, gestures with it to emphasise his points and, with the previous umbrella, beat a man who had attempted an assassination half to death with it, leading to the unfortunate necessity of a replacement.

Sherlock lets his fingers drag down the canopy as he holds tightly to the handle with his other hand. He closes his eyes and imagines Mycroft holding the umbrella, his long fingers grasping the bamboo handle. Sherlock so longs to touch his brother and be touched in return. In all honesty he had not really expected Mycroft to accept his advances tonight, but he has waited so long for a sign that the tenderness Mycroft had shown him all those years ago meant something. Over the years any time he had tried to bring up the subject of their mutual attraction he had never got anything other than pleas to stop talking, subject changes and his brother fleeing the room very much like tonight. He had thought the kiss last year was it, finally they could be together the way they should be, but he had not seen Mycroft in person for two months after that, and then it had been a return to the status quo with no way to broach the subject.

Sherlock realises that while he has been pondering he has been absently caressing the handle of his brother's umbrella. He purposely circles his fingers around the handle and closes his eyes as he moves his hand up and down the bamboo a few times. It has a pronounced curve, and is ribbed along the length of the polished wood. He imagines his brother's long fingers curved around the wood and a moan escapes his lips. He glances again at the bathroom door and bites his lip, John will be out any minute. He huffs a breath and tries to make himself return the umbrella to resting against the sofa, but his body will not follow his instructions, unwilling to let go of this connection to his older brother.

Impulsively he stands and rushes towards his room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it panting, clutching the umbrella to his chest.


	2. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened that Christmas when Sherlock was twenty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go..

Sherlock's head connects with the door with a soft thump as he leans back. Closing his eyes he thinks of the time, many years ago, when Mycroft had taken him under the Christmas tree.

_It was Christmas day, Mummy and Daddy were away visiting family in France for the season, so Sherlock had gone to stay with his brother for the holidays from university. Mycroft had worked for a few hours that Christmas morning, but by lunch time he was finished and they had worked together to make a Christmas meal. Afterwards, full and more than a little drunk they had sat on the floor by the tree opening presents like they had as children. It had been the best time they had shared together for years. The coldness that Sherlock normally showed his brother to hide his inappropriate attraction thawing away as they sat giggling at the jumpers Aunt Violet had made for them._

_They had continued to drink as the pile of wrapped presents dwindled. By the time Sherlock reached his last gift they were both feeling especially fuzzy around the edges, their inhibitions lowered. He opened the gift from Mycroft, an expensive watch that Mycroft insisted on placing on Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock had slurred that it was too much, that nothing he had given Mycroft was that expensive. Mycroft wobbled as he fastened the clasp and ended up leaning over Sherlock, face so close that Sherlock could feel Mycroft's breath ghosting over his lips. Sherlock had joked quietly "I could give you my virginity, that must be worth quite a bit." His older brother had begun to pant and leaned a little closer until their noses were touching. "Don't joke about that." He gasped, and Sherlock replied with a whisper "What if I'm not joking?"_

_Their lips crashed together, Sherlock did not know who had moved, or if they both had, but they were feral. Sherlock did not know how long Mycroft had been harbouring incestuous feelings, but for himself he had already been waiting five years for this moment and now that it was here he could not hold back._

_Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft and pulled him down, lying back and feeling his brother's weight on top of him. The kiss was inelegant, Sherlock had very limited experience and had to rely on his brother for guidance. Mycroft pulled back a little, leaving Sherlock whining and glaring at him, but when he dipped his head to kiss again the angle was so much better, the desperation was gone and his tongue had tangled with Sherlock's so deliciously that Sherlock gave himself over to following his brother's instruction. The wet slide, the taste of whisky in Mycroft's mouth, it all sparked a jolt of arousal, a lightning bolt down his spine directly to his pelvis. The first stirrings of arousal in his groin tingled, blood redirected to cause his cock to twitch inside his trousers._

_Mycroft placed a hand in Sherlock's hair and pulled his head back allowing access to his neck. The older man then licked and nuzzled at Sherlock's sensitive skin, teeth grazing gently over the thin skin overlaying his trachea, before fastening softly over the windpipe. Sherlock breathed deeply, Mycroft could have actually ripped out his throat in that instant, it was the most vulnerable he had ever been, but he could not find one iota of fear inside, he trusted Mycroft completely._

_Mycroft moved away from his neck and returned to place a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips. He kissed the shell of Sherlock's ear and then whispered "I love you, can I have you?"_

_Sherlock nodded eagerly "Please, oh please."_

_Mycroft stood and started towards the door._

_"Don't leave me." Sherlock cried out desperately, unable to cope with losing this before it had even begun_.

" _I'm coming back, patience brother." Mycroft replied, clutching at the doorframe to prevent himself falling to the floor. He turned swiftly and a wave of dizziness nearly overtook him, but he recovered and moved as quickly as he could in his impaired state to his_ _bedroom._

_Sherlock lay on the floor his head near the base of the tree and looked up at the twinkling lights and shiny baubles, the alcohol flowing through his veins made them blur into a beautiful haze of_ _colours. The memory of the kiss repeated itself over and over in his mind and a smile graced his lips. Moments later Mycroft reappeared, wobbling as he walked. He dropped something on the floor, then attempted to lower himself gently to cover his brother's body, but he slipped and landed heavily on top of him causing the breath to be pushed out of Sherlock's lungs. The brothers laughed and then Mycroft lifted himself onto his elbows to look down at his brother._

_"You are beautiful." He slurred, then placed a sloppy kiss against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock eagerly opened his mouth to allow access to his brother's probing tongue. For several minutes the men lay on the floor tasting one another, Sherlock feeling as if he was floating on a cloud of sensation. Sherlock_ _allowed his hands to caress Mycroft's back, threading his fingers through his brother's hair, and pulling him down by the nape to deepen their kiss. Sherlock gradually became aware of Mycroft's arousal, the hard length of his cock pressing into his thigh, and gentle hitches of his brother's hips to rut against him. He realised that he was also fully hard and a particularly hard thrust by his brother pressed against him and elicited a gasp of pleasure._

_"Please." He cried brokenly._

_Mycroft broke the kiss and lifted off of him. "Clothes off." He demanded._

_They broke apart, both desperately removing clothing and dropping it amongst the crumpled wrapping paper that surrounded them. Sherlock was frustrated at his uncoordinated fingers that were unable to work the buttons on his trousers. Mycroft was already naked and batted his brother's hands away to take over, making short work of the fastenings and striped the remaining clothing away._

_Mycroft knelt on the floor next to his brother's prone form, he leaned down and licked Sherlock's slit, tasting the pre-come that had leaked out and wetted his glans. Sherlock cursed and threw his head back, once again finding himself almost underneath the tree._

_Mycroft searched the floor and found the tube of lube that he had brought from his bedroom, he coated his fingers, spilling some on Sherlock's stomach in his haste, as the inexperienced man beneath him stared and trembled in anticipation._

_Mycroft knelt between Sherlock's legs, gripped his cock gently and began to slowly stroke him, dragging sobs from his brother's lips. With the other hand he reached lower, massaging Sherlock's balls, then urged him to spread his thighs a little more and bend his legs to allow access. Mycroft returned to Sherlock's balls then moved lower still to circle his most intimate place with his index finger. "Please, yes." Sherlock begged. The finger continued a gentle exploration, pressing briefly against his perineum and making_ _him moan and squirm._

_Biting his lip Mycroft hovered over Sherlock then leaned down to claim his lips as he pressed the finger home, slowly pushing harder until it was fully sheathed in his brother's warmth. The kiss helped Sherlock through the slight burn that the intrusion wrought, and soon he was rocking his pelvis between the twin sensations of the too gently hand on his shaft and the single digit inside of him. Neither was enough and he sobbed in frustration._

_Mycroft moved his finger in and out slowly, then began teasing at the rim with his middle finger, before pushing that in too. Sherlock held his breath and his face tightened in pain as the second knuckle stretched him. Mycroft, seeing his expression, stilled his fingers to allow his brother to adjust to the sensation and whispered encouragement into his ear._

_His breath ragged Sherlock asked "You've done this before?"_

_Mycroft replied with a murmur against Sherlock's neck "Never with someone I loved.", then proceeded to pump his fingers in and out whilst sweeping a thumb over Sherlock's sensitive glans. The younger man keened in pleasure and grasped his brother's shoulders, digging his fingers into the flesh making Mycroft groan._

_Mycroft added a third finger as Sherlock lay panting and helpless beneath him. He then removed his digits and fumbled in the heaps of brightly coloured paper littering the floor, exclaiming in triumph when he found his prize. He fumbled with the silver packaging, then tore it open and sheathed himself in the condom. Slicking himself with lube he gasped at the sensations on his_ _so far neglected cock._

_Sherlock spread his legs wider and drew his knees up further to allow his brother access. Mycroft placed a steadying hand on Sherlock's hip and with the other guided himself to Sherlock's loosened entrance. He pushed slowly but insistently until his head breached his beloved's flesh. Pushing further his breath became short as he gradually encased himself in the tight heat._

_As the stretch became more and he became fuller Sherlock's eyes filled with tears. His cock began to soften in response to the pain. Trembling_ _all over at the overstimulation he cried out "I can't! Mycie it hurts."_

_Mycroft tried to calm his breathing. The strength of his arousal and the fog in his mind clouding his judgement made him want to continue to push and take his pleasure, but he forced himself to be still. Leaning forward he kissed his brother's lips and said firmly "You can. We will take it slower. Tell me when you are ready."_

_Sherlock nodded, trusting his brother to take care of him, he panted for a few seconds, then pulled Mycroft down for another kiss, this one full of desperation and need. Eventually his body relaxed to allow the invasion and he whispered "Now."_

_In one smooth push Mycroft completed his entrance, his hips resting on Sherlock's thighs. Both men stared into each others eyes in wonder at the feeling of connection, then, languidly, without breaking eye contact, Mycroft began to move. He could feel the friction and drag of the velvet muscles surrounding him, pulsing against him as Sherlock tried to accommodate him. His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned,_ _then returned his gaze to his lover._

_Sherlock could feel every move that Mycroft made. The feeling of fullness was more than he had ever imagined, so much more than the fingers he had used in the past while imagining this moment. The occasional brush against his prostate brought forth wordless cries of pleasure and his own cock soon fully hardened again._

_Mycroft began to move faster, with harder thrusts. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's legs to lift him, soon finding an angle that had Sherlock writhing in pleasure, scrabbling at the floor and tightening his hands into tight fists around balls of wrapping paper._

_"Touch yourself Brother." Mycroft demanded as his climax approached._

_Sherlock released his grasp on the shiny paper and began to tug at himself ruthlessly, alcohol and excitement robbing him of the coordination for any more finesse. He could feel his release approach, he gulped and tore his eyes away from Mycroft. The magnificent sight of his older brother pounding into him over and over, Mycroft's muscles glistening with sweat and moving under his pale skin, threatened to undo him. Instead he focused once more on the lights above him, yellow, red, blue, green, a hundred points of light dancing in his vision as his every wish came true. He came with a shout of "Mycie", his back arching and semen pulsing over his stomach. Every muscle in his body was taut, locked in place, as his eyes screwed up tight._

_At the sight of his beautiful brother coming apart beneath him, and the way that he clenched his passage around him, Mycroft came hard, panting through it, only able to gasp out "Sherlock." around a sob that tore through him, and collapsed on top of the younger man. As his heart rate slowed, Mycroft came to himself enough to pull out gently and tie off the condom, dropping it amongst the piles of rubbish._

_He laid down next to his brother on the floor and pulled him close as they both succumbed to post orgasmic sleep._

Sherlock's breath had quickened as he remembered the best night of his life. Of course it had all gone by morning, he had awoken naked on the floor to find Mycroft gone, a note on the table informing him that his brother had gone to join their parents in France. Sherlock had not seen or spoken to Mycroft again for six months after that, although not for the want of trying on his part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the brollylock ;-)

Still leaning against his bedroom door a tear falls as he mourns the life that he has been yearning for, impossible due to the unfortunate genetic ties between him and the man he longs for.

Sherlock moves away from the door and lies on his bed still clutching the umbrella. He lays on his back and imagines that Mycroft had accepted his offer. They would be in here now, Mycroft above him, his heavy weight pushing him down into the mattress. His eyes close and his breath becomes laboured as his mind supplies the image. His mouth parts unconsciously and he can almost feel the dry warmth of firm lips pressed against them. His tongue flicks out to wet his hungry lips and he whimpers at imagining Mycroft's tongue there.

He needs more, one hand wanders to rub against the bulge in his trousers, it feels sublime and his nerves tingle with the need for more. Abandoning the umbrella next to him on the bed he removes his clothes, dropping them onto the floor carelessly. His eyes alight on the umbrella and a wicked thought forms in his mind.

Holding the handle near his pelvis, with the shaft pointing up his body he begins to rub the canopy against his chest and stomach. The metal ferrule touches his lips and he parts them to briefly allow it to dip inside, touching with his tongue, his eyes flutter closed as he catalogues the sharp metallic taste. The silky material reminds him of Mycroft's expensive shirts, although the hardness of the metal framework is slightly distracting. Moving the umbrella lower he gathers some of the fabric around his cock and strokes, this gives a sensation of being encased in a warm velvet channel. He pictures Mycroft above him, naked and riding him. His fist moves faster as the images continue, Mycroft's head thrown back in abandon, lifting himself up with his strong thigh muscles and dropping back down, fucking himself on Sherlock's cock, faster and faster. 

The image is good, but not really what Sherlock wants. He wants to feel his brother inside of him, the feeling of being totally owned, just like that night so many years ago, to give himself over totally, to see his brother take his pleasure and the pride he would feel at knowing he had given that to him. 

The handle of the umbrella brushes against his thighs and he knows what he wants. Releasing his cock he fumbles in the drawer next to his bed and pulls out a bottle of lube, slicking his fingers he pushes one inside ruthlessly, followed mere seconds later by a second. He only needs to thrust his fingers a few times before feeling the muscles loosen. 

Removing his hand he pours lube over the handle and pushes the tip inside. It does not have nearly as much girth as his brother, but the feeling of knowing that this belongs to Mycroft, that so many times his fingers have caressed this bamboo gives a sense of connection. Sherlock pushes harder and the first raised rib on the handle nudges his rim. He gasps at the extra stretch as he pushes, the ring of muscles forced to open further and then clenching once the ribbed part of the wood is inside. Holding the shaft of the furled umbrella he gently thrusts in and out a little, feeling the ribbing moving inside of him. As the canopy brushes against his cock he whimpers as sparks explode in his brain.

Sherlock's eyes close as he calls forth images of Mycroft above him, swallowing hard he pushes further inside, another raised rib slipping in and making him keen. The curve of the handle means he can not go much deeper, but it has the benefit of being perfect to reach his prostate. At the first brush of the sensitive nerves his toes curl and his back arches off of the bed. He bites back a loud cry and instead breathlessly calls his brother's name.

Still with his eyes closed, his head thrown back, Sherlock fucks himself harder with the umbrella, fingers tightening around the shaft as his other hand scrabbles helplessly at the sheets. The repeated simulation of his prostate making his balls tighten, he is panting as he feels his orgasm approach, curled tight inside. Biting his lip he grasps his erection with his free hand, stroking himself firmly and spreading the copious pre-come down his shaft. He pounds the handle in and out as hard as he can, the ribbing moving in and out of his rim making his muscles convulse around it and the punishing strikes to his prostate making fireworks go off in his mind. The hand on his cock is flying along his length, and the canopy of the umbrella is brushing repeatedly against his glans, as if it were his brother's shirt.

"Yes... Mycroft.. Yes, yes, pleeeease." He whimpers, then his eyes fly open as pulse after pulse of come shoots out of him. He clenches his jaw to hold in the scream that threatens to escape. Continuing to stroke himself through his climax he stares straight up, he does not see the ceiling, but instead a hundred coloured lights shining above him, twinkling and blurring together, before his vision whites out entirely.

For several long seconds Sherlock does not move, his breathing gradually slows . He takes a deep breath and licks his lips, then slowly removes his brother's umbrella, hissing in oversensitivity when he accidentally touches his softening cock, and grimacing as he pulls the raised ribs past his rim. Laying it next to him on the bed he reaches for some tissues, to clean himself up. Examining the umbrella he frowns at the canopy stained with his release, the handle sticky with lube, and the bent ribs and stretchers from where he had grasped it too hard. Reaching onto the floor to retrieve his mobile from his jacket pocket he texts Mycroft.

You need a new umbrella. SH


End file.
